A Valley Filled With Light
Mid June. The alarm rings out into the shadowed corners of my bedroom. The air is cool, blue, and wet. It has just turned 4:30a.m. I am second guessing my decision to be up this early.
I pull myself down the stairs and into the clothes I'd set out. As I splash cold water on my face I can hear the birds singing. The sky looks no different but I am starting to feel impatient. The light of morning isn't that far off and I still have a ways to go before it gets here.
I grab my camera bag, already loaded with my vintage camera and 35mm film the night before. The car warms up while I sit phone-glow faced, picking a soundtrack for my drive. The National, I think. I Am Easy To Find.
The drive isn't really that far. A little more than thirty minutes, but the winding side roads and alien hour make it feel farther.
There was a big storm the night before. As I drive I navigate fallen branches, downed trees, and creep cautiously up to intersections under dead eyed traffic signals. All the while the sky begins to silver as I make my way to meet it.
The parking lot is gravel and makes a satisfying crunch as I pull onto it. As I get out my tension begins to unwind. I am here. It is still dark. I haven't missed the dawn.
The meadow on the other side of the line of parking lot trees is still draped in night. I am hoping to find some Barbara Bosworth inspired photographs waiting there.
I love the way the white flowers mirror the white of the treeline.
I've never tried taking pictures as the sun rises. It's the kind of idea I have in the afternoon and let slip as the day wears away. But I have decided to be a different person and maybe that person gets up to photograph the sunrise.
The grass is tall, almost past my waist in places. I stick to the mowed paths hash-marked through the field. Despite this, the cuffs of my pants become sodden with the previous night's storm water.
I am not sure where to start. Jackson Field runs along a creek bed cut through the bottom of a wide valley. I don't know what this will do for the sunrise. But I wanted a meadow and I remembered this one from a sixth grade science class field trip. We spent a whole morning climbing around in the creek catching crayfish and water bugs with little nets, dutifully recording our discoveries on photocopied workbook pages.
The meadow path turns into a narrow trail as it hits the edge of the woods that lines the creek bed. Second growth maples and oaks as wide around as my waist line the path. The underbrush is bowed down under the weight of lingering rain droplets. They look like they are all still sleeping to me.
The trail narrows further into a deer run as I follow the sound of the creek. I push through thorny raspberry canes and thistles and arrive on a sandy pebble beach that juts out into a curve along the river. I can feel the wet of the brush I climbed through soaking through the thighs on my jeans.
It doesn't look like I remember. There was another bank of trees on the other shore. But now there is a sheer cliff face of erosion spill. A wall of sand and grit almost forty feet straight up crowned by a jagged line of fence that sits dangling over the edge like a nervous teenager leaning out on a dare.
Could the whole shore have changed that much in thirty years?
The sun is just starting to blush the bottom of the clouds drifting overhead. I stand there taking photographs for a few minutes, waiting for the clouds to move into the right position. The click and ratchet of my mechanical camera's film advance punctuates the morning air.
I feel like I'm cheating because I came here to find a meadow and now I'm standing in the stream of my youth, looking backwards. The clouds pinken and I think maybe it's Parrish I'm looking for this morning. I steal a few more photographs and then push my way back through the underbrush into the woods.
I grew up in a house with Maxfield Parrish prints on the walls.
I am hurrying now. I can see yellow and orange cutting holes through the canopy. I have an image in my head I'm hoping to recreate. Raindrop laced field grass cut through sideways by yellow morning light, shadows lurking gray/blue and wet underneath. I'm nowhere near the field at this point and I am worried that when the light comes it will fade just as fast.
I sacrifice more warmth as I take a shortcut through damp bushes to cut over to the the main trail that will take me back to the meadow.
The sky is nearly white now as I get back into the field proper. It is just after 6 now and I'm starting to see signs of other people. I can hear car tires on wet pavement back by the parking lot. A runner goes by and I watch her wondering where she started her run as I have the only car in the lot. A man walks his golden retriever by. Both of them looking at me with open faces like they'd like to stay and talk, but I just smile and nod at them.
In the interim the sky has clouded over and I worry that I won't get the sunrise I came here for. I wander around the paths cut into the tall grass, rehearsing my shots just in case the light arrives.
There are a couple of trees out in the field that I think will catch the light nicely. I circle my way around them trying to find a nice composition. Eventually I just give up and stand there, watching the clouds overhead for holes that might let a little light through.
Then suddenly the patches of sky give way and I follow a line of clear blue sky from left to right as it approaches the horizon. The sun, warm and glowing, fills the valley with light.
Nearly the same composition as the first picture but an hour later.
So far I have only shot twelve pictures. In just a few minutes I quickly snap another roll two rolls of film. I rush from position to position, taking advantage of the locations I'd scouted out earlier, and adjusting on the fly as I catch the light that's pouring through.
The settled rain begins to lift and the clouds are on the ground now. For just a few moments they drift among the tree branches and then fade away.
The air begins to turn from cool damp to humid. I am hungry now, and wet, and I realize I am starting to take pictures I have already taken. I'm still chasing that excitement, but the sun is well and truly up now.
I head back to my car waiting in the lot. My watch reads 7:15. I open my passenger side door and start unloading my camera equipment. As I do so I look up and notice the path I took to get back here makes a tunnel through the trees. The sun lighting up the field beyond makes a perfect contrast to the shadowed trees in the foreground. I grab my camera one last time for just a few more pictures.
There is a post there the makes a perfect camera stand. I take a few pictures and then run back to my car for my little digital camera. That post looks like a good steady spot to try to make a Moving Picture.
I carefully balance my camera on top of the post and use a rock to steady it. I line up the shot and hit record. I aim to make a sixty second clip but I give myself ninety seconds so I can edit out any camera positioning jiggle later. At exactly thirty seconds into the recording it starts to rain.
The sky is blue. There are no clouds. The morning is bathed in warm, yolk yellow sun, and it is raining. I cup my hands to create a little umbrella over my camera and stand there in the rain smiling at this quiet little miracle. At first I thought it was a breeze knocking droplets from the leaves overhead, but as I stand there I can see a line of rain retreating across the field ahead of me.
I stand there for a few moments more. Then I turn around, pack up the rest of my car, and head home.